The scales fell from my eyes, and I saw him once more in a sky-blue armyshirt, behind barbed wire, among Dutch prisoners bathing at Simonstown,more than a dozen years ago[3]. 'Why, it's Zigler--Laughton O. Zigler!'I cried. 'Well, I _am_ glad to see you.'

[Footnote 3: 'The Captive': _Traffics and Discoveries_.]

'Oh no! You don't work any of your English on me. "So glad to see you,doncher know--an' ta-ta!" Do you reside in this village?'

'No. I'm up here buying stores.'

'Then you take my automobile. Where to?... Oh, I know _them_! My LordMarshalton is one of the Directors. Pigott, drive to the Army and NavyCooperative Supply Association Limited, Victoria Street, Westminister.'

He settled himself on the deep dove-colour pneumatic cushions, and hissmile was like the turning on of all the electrics. His teeth werewhiter than the ivory fittings. He smelt of rare soap andcigarettes--such cigarettes as he handed me from a golden box with anautomatic lighter. On my side of the car was a gold-mounted mirror, cardand toilette case. I looked at him inquiringly.

'Yes,' he nodded, 'two years after I quit the Cape. She's not an Ohiogirl, though. She's in the country now. Is that right? She's at ourlittle place in the country. We'll go there as soon as you're throughwith your grocery-list. Engagements? The only engagement you've got isto grab your grip--get your bag from your hotel, I mean--and come rightalong and meet her. You are the captive of _my_ bow and spear now.'

'I surrender,' I said meekly. 'Did the Zigler automatic gun do allthis?' I pointed to the car fittings.

'Psha! Think of your rememberin' that! Well, no. The Zigler is a greatgun--the greatest ever--but life's too short, an' too interestin', tosquander on pushing her in military society. I've leased my rights inher to a Pennsylvanian-Transylvanian citizen full of mentality and moraluplift. If those things weigh with the Chancelleries of Europe, he willmake good and--I shall be surprised. Excuse me!'

He bared his head as we passed the statue of the Great Queen outsideBuckingham Palace.

'A very great lady!' said he. 'I have enjoyed her hospitality. Sherepresents one of the most wonderful institutions in the world. The nextis the one we are going to. Mrs. Zigler uses 'em, and they break her upevery week on returned empties.'

'Oh, you mean the Stores?' I said.

'Mrs. Zigler means it more. They are quite ambassadorial in theiroutlook. I guess I'll wait outside and pray while you wrestle with 'em.'

My business at the Stores finished, and my bag retrieved from the hotel,his moving palace slid us into the country.

'I owe it to you,' Zigler began as smoothly as the car, 'to tell youwhat I am now. I represent the business end of the American Invasion.Not the blame cars themselves--I wouldn't be found dead in one--but thetools that make 'em. I am the Zigler Higher-Speed Tool and Lathe Trust.The Trust, sir, is entirely my own--in my own inventions. I am theRenzalaer ten-cylinder aerial--the lightest aeroplane-engine on themarket--one price, one power, one guarantee. I am the OrlebarPaper-welt, Pulp-panel Company for aeroplane bodies; and I am the RushSilencer for military aeroplanes--absolutely silent--which the Continentleases under royalty. With three exceptions, the British aren't wise toit yet. That's all I represent at present. You saw me take off my hatto your late Queen? I owe every cent I have to that great an' good Lady.Yes, sir, I came out of Africa, after my eighteen months' rest-cure andopen-air treatment and sea-bathing, as her prisoner of war, like a giantrefreshed. There wasn't anything could hold me, when I'd got my hooksinto it, after that experience. And to you as a representative Britishcitizen, I say here and now that I regard you as the founder of thefamily fortune--Tommy's and mine.'

'But I only gave you some papers and tobacco.'

'What more does any citizen need? The Cullinan diamond wouldn't havehelped me as much then; an'--talking about South Africa, tell me--'

We talked about South Africa till the car stopped at the Georgian lodgeof a great park.

'We'll get out here. I want to show you a rather sightly view,' saidZigler.

We walked, perhaps, half a mile, across timber-dotted turf, past a lake,entered a dark rhododendron-planted wood, ticking with the noise ofpheasants' feet, and came out suddenly, where five rides met, at a smallclassic temple between lichened stucco statues which faced a circle ofturf, several acres in extent. Irish yews, of a size that I had neverseen before, walled the sunless circle like cliffs of riven obsidian,except at the lower end, where it gave on to a stretch of undulatingbare ground ending in a timbered slope half-a-mile away.

'That's where the old Marshalton race-course used to be,' said Zigler.'That ice-house is called Flora's Temple. Nell Gwynne and Mrs. Siddonsan' Taglioni an' all that crowd used to act plays here for King Georgethe Third. Wasn't it? Well, George is the only king I play. Let it go atthat. This circle was the stage, I guess. The kings an' the nobility satin Flora's Temple. I forget who sculped these statues at the door.They're the Comic and Tragic Muse. But it's a sightly view, ain't it?'

The sunlight was leaving the park. I caught a glint of silver to thesouthward beyond the wooded ridge.

'That's the ocean--the Channel, I mean,' said Zigler. 'It's twenty-threemiles as a man flies. A sightly view, ain't it?'

I looked at the severe yews, the dumb yelling mouths of the two statues,at the blue-green shadows on the unsunned grass, and at the still brightplain in front where some deer were feeding.

'It's a most dramatic contrast, but I think it would be better on asummer's day,' I said, and we went on, up one of the noiseless rides, aquarter of a mile at least, till we came to the porticoed front of anenormous Georgian pile. Four footmen revealed themselves in a hall hungwith pictures.

'I hired this off of my Lord Marshalton,' Zigler explained, while theyhelped us out of our coats under the severe eyes of ruffed andperiwigged ancestors. 'Ya-as. They always look at _me_ too, as if I'dblown in from the gutter. Which, of course, I have. That's Mary, LadyMarshalton. Old man Joshua painted her. Do you see any likeness to myLord Marshalton? Why, haven't you ever met up with him? He was CaptainMankeltow--my Royal British Artillery captain that blew up my gun in thewar, an' then tried to bury me against my religious principles[4].Ya-as. His father died and he got the lordship. That was about all hegot by the time that your British death-duties were through with him. Sohe said I'd oblige him by hiring his ranch. It's a hell an' a half of aproposition to handle, but Tommy--Mrs. Laughton--understands it. Comeright in to the parlour and be very welcome.'

[Footnote 4: "The Captive": _Traffics and Discoveries_.]

He guided me, hand on shoulder, into a babble of high-pitched talk andlaughter that filled a vast drawing-room. He introduced me as thefounder of the family fortunes to a little, lithe, dark-eyed woman whosespeech and greeting were of the soft-lipped South. She in turn presentedme to her mother, a black-browed snowy-haired old lady with a cap ofpriceless Venetian point, hands that must have held many hearts in theirtime, and a dignity as unquestioned and unquestioning as an empress. Shewas, indeed, a Burton of Savannah, who, on their own ground, out-rankthe Lees of Virginia. The rest of the company came from Buffalo,Cincinnati, Cleveland and Chicago, with here and there a softeningsouthern strain. A party of young folk popped corn beneath a mantelpiecesurmounted by a Gainsborough. Two portly men, half hidden by a casedharp, discussed, over sheaves of typewritten documents, the terms ofsome contract. A knot of matrons talked servants--Irish _versus_German--across the grand piano. A youth ravaged an old bookcase, whilebeside him a tall girl stared at the portrait of a woman of many loves,dead three hundred years, but now leaping to life and warning under theshaded frame-light. In a corner half-a-dozen girls examined the glazedtables that held the decorations--English and foreign--of the late LordMarshalton.

'See heah! Would this be the Ordeh of the Gyartah?' one said, pointing.

'But Woman's scope, and outlook was vurry limmutted in those days,' oneof the matrons put in, from the piano.

'Limmutted? For _her_? If they whurr, I guess she was the limmut. Whowas she? Peters, whurr's the cat'log?'

A thin butler, in charge of two footmen removing the tea-batteries, slidto a table and handed her a blue-and-qilt book. He was button-holed byone of the men behind the harp, who wished to get a telephone callthrough to Edinburgh.

'The local office shuts at six,' said Peters. 'But I can get throughto'--he named some town--'in ten minutes, sir.'

'The nine twenty-seven, sir. Yes, sir. Early breakfast will be athalf-past eight and the car will be at the door at nine.'

'Peters!' an imperious young voice called. 'What's the matteh with LordMarshalton's Ordeh of the Gyartah? We cyan't find it anyweah.'

'Well, miss, I _have_ heard that that Order is usually returned to HisMajesty on the death of the holder. Yes, miss.' Then in a whisper to afootman, 'More butter for the pop-corn in King Charles's Corner.' Hestopped behind my chair. 'Your room is Number Eleven, sir. May I troubleyou for your keys?'

He left the room with a six-year-old maiden called Alice who hadannounced she would not go to bed ''less Peter, Peter, Punkin-eatertakes me--so there!'

He very kindly looked in on me for a moment as I was dressing fordinner. 'Not at all, sir,' he replied to some compliment I paid him. 'Ivaleted the late Lord Marshalton for fifteen years. He was very abruptin his movements, sir. As a rule I never received more than an hour'snotice of a journey. We used to go to Syria frequently. I have beentwice to Babylon. Mr. and Mrs. Zigler's requirements are, comparativelyspeaking, few.'

'But the guests?'

'Very little out of the ordinary as soon as one knows their ordinaries.Extremely simple, if I may say so, sir.'

I had the privilege of taking Mrs. Burton in to dinner, and was rewardedwith an entirely new, and to me rather shocking view, of AbrahamLincoln, who, she said, had wasted the heritage of his land by blood andfire, and had surrendered the remnant to aliens. 'My brother, suh,' shesaid, 'fell at Gettysburg in order that Armenians should colonise NewEngland to-day. If I took any interest in any dam-Yankee outside of myson-in-law Laughton yondah, I should say that my brother's death hadbeen amply avenged.'

The man at her right took up the challenge, and the war spread. Her eyestwinkled over the flames she had lit.

'Don't these folk,' she said a little later, 'remind you of Arabspicnicking under the Pyramids?'

'I've never seen the Pyramids,' I replied.

'Hm! I didn't know you were as English as all that.' And when I laughed,'Are you?'

'Always. It saves trouble.'

'Now that's just what I find so significant among the English'--this wasAlice's mother, I think, with one elbow well forward among the saltedalmonds. 'Oh, I know how _you_ feel, Madam Burton, but a Northernerlike myself--I'm Buffalo--even though we come over every year--noticesthe desire for comfort in England. There's so little conflict or upliftin British society.'

'But we like being comfortable,' I said.

'I know it. It's very characteristic. But ain't it a little, just alittle, lacking in adaptability an' imagination?'

'They haven't any need for adaptability,' Madam Burton struck in. 'Theyhaven't any Ellis Island standards to live up to.'

'But we can assimilate,' the Buffalo woman charged on.

'Now you _have_ done it!' I whispered to the old lady as the blessedword 'assimilation' woke up all the old arguments for and against.

There was not a dull moment in that dinner for me--nor afterwards whenthe boys and girls at the piano played the rag-time tunes of their ownland, while their elders, inexhaustibly interested, replunged into thediscussion of that land's future, till there was talk of coon-can. Whenall the company had been set to tables Zigler led me into his book-linedstudy, where I noticed he kept his golf-clubs, and spoke simply as achild, gravely as a bishop, of the years that were past since ourlast meeting.

'That's about all, I guess--up to date,' he said when he had unrolledthe bright map of his fortunes across three continents. 'Bein' richsuits me. So does your country, sir. My own country? You heard whatthat Detroit man said at dinner. "A Government of the alien, by thealien, for the alien." Mother's right, too. Lincoln killed us. From thehighest motives--but he killed us. Oh, say, that reminds me. 'J'everkill a man from the highest motives?'

'Not from any motive--as far as I remember.'

'Well, I have. It don't weigh on my mind any, but it was interesting.Life _is_ interesting for a rich--for any--man in England. Ya-as! Lifein England is like settin' in the front row at the theatre and neverknowin' when the whole blame drama won't spill itself into your lap. Ididn't always know that. I lie abed now, and I blush to think of some ofthe breaks I made in South Africa. About the British. Not your officialmethod of doin' business. But the Spirit. I was 'way, 'way off on theSpirit. Are you acquainted with any other country where you'd have tokill a man or two to get at the National Spirit?'

'Well,' I answered, 'next to marrying one of its women, killing one ofits men makes for pretty close intimacy with any country. I take it youkilled a British citizen.'

'Why, no. Our syndicate confined its operations to aliens--dam-foolaliens.... 'J'ever know an English lord called Lundie[5]? Looks like aframe-food and soap advertisement. I imagine he was in your SupremeCourt before he came into his lordship.'

[Footnote 5: 'The Puzzler': _Actions and Reactions_.]

'He is a lawyer--what we call a Law Lord--a Judge of Appeal--not a realhereditary lord.'

'That's him. 'Looks like a tough, talks like a Maxim, and trains withkings.'

'He does,' I said. 'Burton-Walen knows all the crowned heads of Europeintimately. It's his hobby.'

'Well, there's the whole outfit for you--exceptin' my Lord Marshalton,_ne_ Mankeltow, an' me. All active murderers--specially the Law Lord--oraccessories after the fact. And what do they hand you out for _that_, inthis country?'

'Twenty years, I believe,' was my reply.

He reflected a moment.

'No-o-o,' he said, and followed it with a smoke-ring. 'Twenty months atthe Cape is my limit. Say, murder ain't the soul-shatterin' event thosenature-fakers in the magazines make out. It develops naturally like anyother proposition.... Say, 'j'ever play this golf game? It's come up inthe States from Maine to California, an' we're prodoocin' all thechampions in sight. Not a business man's play, but interestin'. I've gota golf-links in the park here that they tell me is the finest inlandcourse ever. I had to pay extra for that when I hired the ranche--lastyear. It was just before I signed the papers that our murdereventuated. My Lord Marshalton he asked me down for the week-end to fixup something or other--about Peters and the linen, I think 'twas. Mrs.Zigler took a holt of the proposition. She understood Peters from theword "go." There wasn't any house-party; only fifteen or twenty folk. Afull house is thirty-two, Tommy tells me. 'Guess we must be near on thatto-night. In the smoking-room here, my Lord Marshalton--Mankeltow thatwas--introduces me to this Walen man with the nose. He'd been in the Wartoo, from start to finish. He knew all the columns and generals that I'dbattled with in the days of my Zigler gun. We kinder fell into eachother's arms an' let the harsh world go by for a while.

'Walen he introduces me to your Lord Lundie. _He_ was a new propositionto me. If he hadn't been a lawyer he'd have made a lovely cattle-king. Ithought I had played poker some. Another of my breaks. Ya-as! It cost meeleven hundred dollars besides what Tommy said when I retired. I have nofault to find with your hereditary aristocracy, or your judiciary, oryour press.

'Sunday we all went to Church across the Park here.... Psha! Think o'your rememberin' my religion! I've become an Episcopalian since Imarried. Ya-as.... After lunch Walen did his crowned-heads-of-Europestunt in the smokin'-room here. He was long on Kings. And Continentalcrises. I do not pretend to follow British domestic politics, but in theaeroplane business a man has to know something of internationalpossibilities. At present, you British are settin' in kimonoes ondynamite kegs. Walen's talk put me wise on the location and size of someof the kegs. Ya-as!

'After that, we four went out to look at those golf-links I was hirin'.We each took a club. Mine'--he glanced at a great tan bag by thefire-place--'was the beginner's friend--the cleek. Well, sir, this golfproposition took a holt of me as quick as--quick as death. They had toprise me off the greens when it got too dark to see, and then we wentback to the house. I was walkin' ahead with my Lord Marshalton talkin'beginners' golf. (_I_ was the man who ought to have been killed byrights.) We cut 'cross lots through the woods to Flora's Temple--thatplace I showed you this afternoon. Lundie and Walen were, maybe, twentyor thirty rod behind us in the dark. Marshalton and I stopped at thetheatre to admire at the ancestral yew-trees. He took me right under thebiggest--King Somebody's Yew--and while I was spannin' it with myhandkerchief, he says, "Look heah!" just as if it was a rabbit--and downcomes a bi-plane into the theatre with no more noise than the dead. MyRush Silencer is the only one on the market that allows that sort ofgumshoe work.... What? A bi-plane--with two men in it. Both men jump outand start fussin' with the engines. I was starting to tell Mankeltow--Ican't remember to call him Marshalton any more--that it looked as if theRoyal British Flying Corps had got on to my Rush Silencer at last; buthe steps out from under the yew to these two Stealthy Steves and says,"What's the trouble? Can I be of any service?" He thought--so didI--'twas some of the boys from Aldershot or Salisbury. Well, sir, fromthere on, the situation developed like a motion-picture in Hell. The manon the nigh side of the machine whirls round, pulls his gun and firesinto Mankeltow's face. I laid him out with my cleek automatically. Anyone who shoots a friend of mine gets what's comin' to him if I'm withinreach. He drops. Mankeltow rubs his neck with his handkerchief. The manthe far side of the machine starts to run. Lundie down the ride, or itmight have been Walen, shouts, "What's happened?" Mankeltow says,"Collar that chap."

'The second man runs ring-a-ring-o'-roses round the machine, one handreachin' behind him. Mankeltow heads him off to me. He breaks blind forWalen and Lundie, who are runnin' up the ride. There's some sort ofmix-up among 'em, which it's too dark to see, and a thud. Walen says,"Oh, well collared!" Lundie says, "That's the only thing I never learnedat Harrow!"... Mankeltow runs up to 'em, still rubbin' his neck, andsays, "_He_ didn't fire at me. It was the other chap. Where is he?"

'Right there I left them and sort o' tiptoed back to my man, hopin' he'drevived and quit. But he hadn't. That darned cleek had hit him on theback of the neck just where his helmet stopped. He'd got _his_. I knewit by the way the head rolled in my hands. Then the others came up theride totin' _their_ load. No mistakin' that shuffle on grass. D'youremember it--in South Africa? Ya-as.

'"Hsh!" says Lundie. "Do you know I've broken this man's neck?"

'"Same here," I says.

'"What? Both?" says Mankeltow.

'"Nonsense!" says Lord Lundie. "Who'd have thought he was that out oftraining? A man oughtn't to fly if he ain't fit."

'"What did they want here, anyway?" said Walen; and Mankeltow says, "Wecan't leave them in the open. Some one'll come. Carry 'em toFlora's Temple."

We toted 'em again and laid 'em out on a stone bench. They were stilldead in spite of our best attentions. We knew it, but we went throughthe motions till it was quite dark. 'Wonder if all murderers do that?"We want a light on this," says Walen after a spell. "There ought to beone in the machine. Why didn't they light it?"

'We came out of Flora's Temple, and shut the doors behind us. Somestars were showing then--same as when Cain did his little act, I guess.I climbed up and searched the machine. She was very well equipped, Ifound two electric torches in clips alongside her barometers by therear seat.

'"What make is she?" says Mankeltow.

'"Continental Renzalaer," I says. "My engines and my Rush Silencer."

'Walen whistles. "Here--let me look," he says, and grabs the othertorch. She was sure well equipped. We gathered up an armful of camerasan' maps an' note-books an' an album of mounted photographs which wetook to Flora's Temple and spread on a marble-topped table (I'll showyou to-morrow) which the King of Naples had presented to grandfatherMarshalton. Walen starts to go through 'em. We wanted to know why ourfriends had been so prejudiced against our society.

'"Wait a minute," says Lord Lundie. "Lend me a handkerchief."

'He pulls out his own, and Walen contributes his green-and-red bandanna,and Lundie covers their faces. "Now," he says, "we'll go into theevidence."

'There wasn't any flaw in that evidence. Walen read out their lastobservations, and Mankeltow asked questions, and Lord Lundie sort o'summarised, and I looked at the photos in the album. 'J'ever see abird's-eye telephoto-survey of England for military purposes? It'sinterestin' but indecent--like turnin' a man upside down. None of thoseclose-range panoramas of forts could have been taken without myRush Silencer.

'"I wish _we_ was as thorough as they are," says Mankeltow, when Walenstopped translatin'.

'"We've been thorough enough," says Lord Lundie. "The evidence againstboth accused is conclusive. Any other country would give 'em seven yearsin a fortress. We should probably give 'em eighteen months asfirst-class misdemeanants. But their case," he says, "is out of ourhands. We must review our own. Mr. Zigler," he said, "will you tell uswhat steps you took to bring about the death of the first accused?" Itold him. He wanted to know specially whether I'd stretched firstaccused before or after he had fired at Mankeltow. Mankeltow testifiedhe'd been shot at, and exhibited his neck as evidence. It was scorched.

'"Now, Mr. Walen," says Lord Lundie. "Will you kindly tell us what stepsyou took with regard to the second accused?"

'Lord Lundie lifts one hand and uncovers second accused's face. Therewas a bruise on one cheek and the chin was all greened with grass. Hewas a heavy-built man.

'"What happened after that?" says Lord Lundie.

'"To the best of my remembrance he turned from me towards yourlordship."

'Then Lundie goes ahead. "I stooped, and caught the man round theankles," he says. "The sudden check threw him partially over my leftshoulder. I jerked him off that shoulder, still holding his ankles, andhe fell heavily on, it would appear, the point of his chin, death beinginstantaneous."

'"Death being instantaneous," says Walen.

'Lord Lundie takes off his gown and wig--you could see him do it--andbecomes our fellow-murderer. "That's our case," he says. "I know how _I_should direct the jury, but it's an undignified business for a Lord ofAppeal to lift his hand to, and some of my learned brothers," he says,"might be disposed to be facetious."

'I guess I can't be properly sensitised. Any one who steered me out ofthat trouble might have had the laugh on me for generations. But I'monly a millionaire. I said we'd better search second accused in casehe'd been carryin' concealed weapons.

'"That certainly is a point," says Lord Lundie. "But the question forthe jury would be whether I exercised more force than was necessary toprevent him from usin' them." _I_ didn't say anything. He wasn't talkin'my language. Second accused had his gun on him sure enough, but it hadjammed in his hip-pocket. He was too fleshy to reach behind for businesspurposes, and he didn't look a gun-man anyway. Both of 'em carried wadsof private letters. By the time Walen had translated, we knew how manychildren the fat one had at home and when the thin one reckoned to bemarried. Too bad! Ya-as.

'Says Walen to me while we was rebuttonin' their jackets (they was notin uniform): "Ever read a book called _The Wreckers_, Mr. Zigler?"

'"I'll remember," I says. "But I don't see how this song and dance helpsus any. Here's our corpses, here's their machine, and daylight'sbound to come."

'"Heavens! That reminds me," says Lundie. "What time's dinner?"

'"Half-past eight," says Mankeltow. "It's half-past five now. We knockedoff golf at twenty to, and if they hadn't been such silly asses, firin'pistols like civilians, we'd have had them to dinner. Why, they might besitting with us in the smoking-room this very minute," he says. Then hesaid that no man had a right to take his profession so seriously asthese two mountebanks.

'"How interestin'!" says Lundie. "I've noticed this impatient attitudetoward their victim in a good many murderers. I never understood itbefore. Of course, it's the disposal of the body that annoys 'em. Now, Iwonder," he says, "who our case will come up before? Let's run throughit again."

'Then Walen whirls in. He'd been bitin' his nails in a corner. We wasall nerved up by now.... Me? The worst of the bunch. I had to think forTommy as well.

'"We _can't_ be tried," says Walen. "We _mustn't_ be tried! It'll makean infernal international stink. What did I tell you in the smoking-roomafter lunch? The tension's at breaking-point already. This 'ud snap it.Can't you see that?"

'"I was thinking of the legal aspect of the case," says Lundie. "With agood jury we'd likely be acquitted."

'"Acquitted!" says Walen. "Who'd dare acquit us in the face of what 'udbe demanded by--the other party? Did you ever hear of the War ofJenkins' ear? 'Ever hear of Mason and Slidel? 'Ever hear of anultimatum? You know who _these_ two idiots are; you know who _we_ are--aLord of Appeal, a Viscount of the English peerage, and me--_me_ knowingall I know, which the men who know dam' well know that I _do_ know! It'sour necks or Armageddon. Which do you think this Government wouldchoose? We _can't_ be tried!" he says.

'"Then I expect I'll have to resign me club," Lundie goes on. "I don'tthink that's ever been done before by an _ex-officio_ member. I must askthe secretary." I guess he was kinder bunkered for the minute, or maybe'twas the lordship comin' out on him.

'"Rot!" says Mankeltow. "Walen's right. We can't afford to be tried.We'll have to bury them; but my head-gardener locks up all the tools atfive o'clock."

'"Not on your life!" says Lundie. He was on deck again--as thehigh-class lawyer. "Right or wrong, if we attempt concealment of thebodies we're done for."

'"Then what _are_ we to do?" says Walen. "Zigler, what do you advise?Your neck's in it too."

'"Gentlemen," I says, "something Lord Lundie let fall a while back givesme an idea. I move that this committee empowers Big Claus and LittleClaus, who have elected to commit suicide in our midst, to leave thepremises _as_ they came. I'm asking you to take big chances," I says,"but they're all we've got," and then I broke for the bi-plane.

'Don't tell me the English can't think as quick as the next man whenit's up to them! They lifted 'em out o' Flora's Temple--reverent, butnot wastin' time--whilst I found out what had brought her down. Onecylinder was misfirin'. I didn't stop to fix it. My Renzalaer will holdup on six. We've proved that. If her crew had relied on my guarantees,they'd have been half-way home by then, instead of takin' their seatswith hangin' heads like they was ashamed. They ought to have beenashamed too, playin' gun-men in a British peer's park! I took bigchances startin' her without controls, but 'twas a dead still night an'a clear run--you saw it--across the Theatre into the park, and I prayedshe'd rise before she hit high timber. I set her all I dared for a quicklift. I told Mankeltow that if I gave her too much nose she'd be liableto up-end and flop. He didn't want another inquest on his estate. No,sir! So I had to fix her up in the dark. Ya-as!

'I took big chances, too, while those other three held on to her and Iworked her up to full power. My Renzalaer's no ventilation-fan to pullagainst. But I climbed out just in time. I'd hitched the signallin' lampto her tail so's we could track her. Otherwise, with my Rush Silencer,we might's well have shooed an owl out of a barn. She left just that waywhen we let her go. No sound except the propellers--_Whoo-oo-oo!Whoo-oo-oo!_ There was a dip in the ground ahead. It hid her lamp for asecond--but there's no such thing as time in real life. Then that lamptravelled up the far slope slow--too slow. Then it kinder lifted, wejudged. Then it sure was liftin'. Then it lifted good. D'you know why?Our four naked perspirin' souls was out there underneath her, hikin' herheavens high. Yes, sir. _We_ did it!... And that lamp kept liftin' andliftin'. Then she side-slipped! My God, she side-slipped twice, whichwas what I'd been afraid of all along! Then she straightened up, andwent away climbin' to glory, for that blessed star of our hope gotsmaller and smaller till we couldn't track it any more. Then webreathed. We hadn't breathed any since their arrival, but we didn't knowit till we breathed that time--all together. Then we dug ourfinger-nails out of our palms an' came alive again--in instalments.

'"Poor chaps! Poor chaps!" says Mankeltow. "We'd have had 'em to dinnerif they hadn't lost their heads. I can't tell you how this distressesme, Laughton."

'"Well, look at here, Arthur," I says. "It's only God's Own Mercy youan' me ain't lyin' in Flora's Temple now, and if that fat man had knownenough to fetch his gun around while he was runnin', Lord Lundie andWalen would have been alongside us."

'"I know it," I says. "That's where the dead are always so damned unfairon the survivors."

'"I see that too," he says. "But I'd have given a good deal if it hadn'thappened, poor chaps!"

'"Amen!" says Lundie. Then? Oh, then we sorter walked back two an' twoto Flora's Temple an' lit matches to see we hadn't left anything behind.Walen, he had confiscated the note-books before they left. There was thefirst man's pistol which we'd forgot to return him, lyin' on the stonebench. Mankeltow puts his hand on it--he never touched the trigger--an',bein' an automatic, of course the blame thing jarred off--spiteful asa rattler!

'"Look out! They'll have one of us yet," says Walen in the dark. Butthey didn't--the Lord hadn't quit being our shepherd--and we heard thebullet zip across the veldt--quite like old times. Ya-as!

'"Swine!" says Mankeltow.

'After that I didn't hear any more "Poor chap" talk.... Me? I neverworried about killing _my_ man. I was too busy figurin' how a Britishjury might regard the proposition. I guess Lundie felt that way too.

'Oh, but say! We had an interestin' time at dinner. Folks was expectedwhose auto had hung up on the road. They hadn't wired, and Peters hadlaid two extra places. We noticed 'em as soon as we sat down. I'd hateto say how noticeable they were. Mankeltow with his neck bandaged (he'dcaught a relaxed throat golfin') sent for Peters and told him to takethose empty places away--_if you please_. It takes something to rattlePeters. He was rattled that time. Nobody else noticed anything.And now...'

'Where did they come down?' I asked, as he rose.

'In the Channel, I guess. There was nothing in the papers about 'em.Shall we go into the drawin'-room, and see what these boys and girls aredoin?' But say, ain't life in England inter_es_tin'?

REBIRTH

If any God should say "I will restore The world her yesterday Whole as before My Judgment blasted it"--who would not lift Heart, eye, and hand in passion o'er the gift?

If any God should will To wipe from mind The memory of this ill Which is mankind In soul and substance now--who would not bless Even to tears His loving-tenderness?

If any God should give Us leave to fly These present deaths we live, And safely die In those lost lives we lived ere we were born-- What man but would not laugh the excuse to scorn?

For we are what we are-- So broke to blood And the strict works of war-- So long subdued To sacrifice, that threadbare Death commands Hardly observance at our busier hands.

Yet we were what we were, And, fashioned so, It pleases us to stare At the far show Of unbelievable years and shapes that flit, In our own likeness, on the edge of it.

The Horse Marines

(1911)

_The Rt. Hon. R.B. Haldane, Secretary of State for War[6], wasquestioned in the House of Commons on April 8th about the rocking-horseswhich the War Office is using for the purpose of teaching recruits toride. Lord Ronaldshay asked the War Secretary if rocking-horses were tobe supplied to all the cavalry regiments for teaching recruits to ride.'The noble Lord,' replied Mr. Haldane, 'is doubtless alluding to certaindummy horses on rockers which have been tested with very satisfactoryresults.'... The mechanical steed is a wooden horse with an astonishingtail. It is painted brown and mounted on swinging rails. The recruitleaps into the saddle and pulls at the reins while the riding-instructorrocks the animal to and fro with his foot. The rocking-horses are beingmade at Woolwich. They are quite cheap_.

--Daily Paper.

[Footnote 6: Now Viscount Haldane of Cloan.]

My instructions to Mr. Leggatt, my engineer, had been accurately obeyed.He was to bring my car on completion of annual overhaul, from Coventry_via_ London, to Southampton Docks to await my arrival; and very prettyshe looked, under the steamer's side among the railway lines, at six inthe morning. Next to her new paint and varnish I was most impressed byher four brand-new tyres.

'But I didn't order new tyres,' I said as we moved away. 'These areIrresilients, too.'

'Treble-ribbed,' said Leggatt. 'Diamond-stud sheathing.'

'Then there has been a mistake.'

'Oh no, sir; they're gratis.'

The number of motor manufacturers who give away complete sets oftreble-ribbed Irresilient tyres is so limited that I believe I askedLeggatt for an explanation.

'I don't know that I could very well explain, sir,' was the answer. 'It'ud come better from Mr. Pyecroft. He's on leaf at Portsmouth--stayingwith his uncle. His uncle 'ad the body all night. I'd defy you to find ascratch on her even with a microscope.'

'Then we will go home by the Portsmouth road,' I said.

And we went at those speeds which are allowed before the working-daybegins or the police are thawed out. We were blocked near Portsmouth bya battalion of Regulars on the move.

'Whitsuntide manoeuvres just ending,' said Leggatt. 'They've had afortnight in the Downs.'

He said no more until we were in a narrow street somewhere behindPortsmouth Town Railway Station, where he slowed at a green-groceryshop. The door was open, and a small old man sat on three potato-basketsswinging his feet over a stooping blue back.

'You call that shinin' 'em?' he piped. 'Can you see your face in 'emyet? No! Then shine 'em, or I'll give you a beltin' you'll remember!'

'Then perhaps he was swinging the car for compasses. Be that as it may,we found him in that latitude, simultaneous as Jules and me was _ongroute_ for Waterloo to rejoin our respective ships--or Navies I shouldsay. Jules was a _permissionaire_, which meant being on leaf, same asme, from a French cassowary-cruiser at Portsmouth. A party of her trustyand well-beloved petty officers 'ad been seeing London, chaperoned bythe R.C. Chaplain. Jules 'ad detached himself from the squadron and wascruisin' on his own when I joined him, in company of copiouslady-friends. _But_, mark you, your Mr. Leggatt drew the line at thegirls. Loud and long he drew it.'

'I'm glad of that,' I said.

'You may be. He adopted the puristical formation from the first. "Yes,"he said, when we was annealing him at--but you wouldn't know the pub--"I_am_ going to Southampton," he says, "and I'll stretch a point to go_via_ Portsmouth; _but_," says he, "seeing what sort of one hell of atime invariably trarnspires when we cruise together, Mr. Pyecroft, I do_not_ feel myself justified towards my generous and long-sufferingemployer in takin' on that kind of ballast as well." I assure you heconsidered your interests.'

'And the girls?' I asked.

'Oh, I left that to Jules. I'm a monogomite by nature. So we embarkedstrictly _ong garcong_. But I should tell you, in case he didn't, thatyour Mr. Leggatt's care for your interests 'ad extended to sheathing thecar in matting and gunny-bags to preserve her paint-work. She was allswathed up like an I-talian baby.'

'He _is_ careful about his paint-work,' I said.

'For a man with no Service experience I should say he was fair homicidalon the subject. If we'd been Marines he couldn't have been more pointedin his allusions to our hob-nailed socks. However, we reduced him to amalleable condition, and embarked for Portsmouth. I'd seldom rejoinedmy _vaisseau ong automobile, avec_ a fur coat and goggles. Nor'ad Jules.'

'That's where I pitied the pore beggar. He 'adn't the language, so tospeak. He was confined to heavings and shruggin's and copious _MongJews_! The French are very badly fitted with relief-valves. And then ourMr. Leggatt drove. He drove.'

'Was he in a very malleable condition?'

'Not him! We recognised the value of his cargo from the outset. Hehadn't a chance to get more than moist at the edges. After which we wentto sleep; and now we'll go to breakfast.'

We entered the back room where everything was in order, and a screechingcanary made us welcome. The uncle had added sausages and piles ofbuttered toast to the kippers. The coffee, cleared with a piece offish-skin, was a revelation.

Leggatt, who seemed to know the premises, had run the car into the tinybackyard where her mirror-like back almost blocked up the windows. Heminded shop while we ate. Pyecroft passed him his rations through a flapin the door. The uncle ordered him in, after breakfast, to wash up, andhe jumped in his gaiters at the old man's commands as he has neverjumped to mine.

'To resoom the post-mortem,' said Pyecroft, lighting his pipe. 'Myslumbers were broken by the propeller ceasing to revolve, and by vilelanguage from your Mr. Leggatt.'

'I--I--' Leggatt began, a blue-checked duster in one hand and a cup inthe other.

'When you're wanted aft you'll be sent for, Mr. Leggatt,' said Pyecroftamiably. 'It's clean mess decks for you now. Resooming once more, we wason a lonely and desolate ocean near Portsdown, surrounded by gorsebushes, and a Boy Scout was stirring my stomach with his littlecopper-stick.'

'"You count ten," he says.

'"Very good, Boy Jones," I says, "count 'em," and I hauled him in overthe gunnel, and ten I gave him with my large flat hand. The remarks hepassed, lying face down tryin' to bite my leg, would have reflectedcredit on any Service. Having finished I dropped him overboard again,which was my gross political error. I ought to 'ave killed him; becausehe began signalling--rapid and accurate--in a sou'westerly direction.Few equatorial calms are to be apprehended when B.P.'s little pets taketo signallin'. Make a note o' that! Three minutes later we were stoppedand boarded by Scouts--up our backs, down our necks, and in our boots!The last I heard from your Mr. Leggatt as he went under, brushin' 'emoff his cap, was thanking Heaven he'd covered up the new paint-work withmats. An 'eroic soul!'

'Not a scratch on her body,' said Leggatt, pouring out thecoffee-grounds.

'And when I 'ad 'em half convinced he was a French vicomte coming downto visit the Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth, he tried to take it off.Seeing his uniform underneath, some sucking Sherlock Holmes of the PinkEye Patrol (they called him Eddy) deduced that I wasn't speakingthe truth. Eddy said I was tryin' to sneak into Portsmouthunobserved--unobserved mark you!--and join hands with the enemy. Ittrarnspired that the Scouts was conducting a field-day against opposin'forces, ably assisted by all branches of the Service, and they was soafraid the car wouldn't count ten points to them in the fray, thatthey'd have scalped us, but for the intervention of an umpire--also inshort under-drawers. A fleshy sight!'

'Oh, was the Navy in it too?' I said; for I had read of wild doingsoccasionally among the Boy Scouts on the Portsmouth Road, in which Navy,Army, and the world at large seemed to have taken part.

'The Navy _was_ in it. I was the only one out of it--for severalseconds. Our Mr. Morshed failed to recognise me in my fur boa, and myappealin' winks at 'im behind your goggles didn't arrive. But when Eddydarling had told his story, I saluted, which is difficult in furs, and Istated I was bringin' him dispatches from the North. My Mr. Morshedcohered on the instant. I've never known his ethergram installations outof order yet. "Go and guard your blessed road," he says to the FrattonOrphan Asylum standing at attention all round him, and, when they wasremoved--"Pyecroft," he says, still _sotte voce_, "what in Hong-Kong areyou doing with this dun-coloured _sampan_?"

'It was your Mr. Leggatt's paint-protective matting which caught hiseye. She _did_ resemble a _sampan_, especially about the stern-works. Atthese remarks I naturally threw myself on 'is bosom, so far as Serviceconditions permitted, and revealed him all, mentioning that the car wasyours. You know his way of working his lips like a rabbit? Yes, he wasquite pleased. "_His_ car!" he kept murmuring, working his lips like arabbit. "I owe 'im more than a trifle for things he wrote about me. I'llkeep the car."

'Your Mr. Leggatt now injected some semi-mutinous remarks to the effectthat he was your chauffeur in charge of your car, and, as such, capableof so acting. Mr. Morshed threw him a glarnce. It sufficed. Didn't itsuffice, Mr. Leggatt?'

'Jules was, so to speak, panicking in a water-tight flat through hisunfortunate lack of language. I had to introduce him as part of the_entente cordiale_, and he was put under arrest, too. Then we sat on thegrass and smoked, while Eddy and Co. violently annoyed the traffic onthe Portsmouth Road, till the umpires, all in short panties, conferredon the valuable lessons of the field-day and added up points, same as attarget-practice. I didn't hear their conclusions, but our Mr. Morsheddelivered a farewell address to Eddy and Co., tellin' 'em they ought tohave deduced from a hundred signs about me, that I was a friendlybringin' in dispatches from the North. We left 'em tryin' to find thosesigns in the Scout book, and we reached Mr. Morshed's hotel atPortsmouth at 6.27 P.M. _ong automobile_. Here endeth thefirst chapter.'

'Begin the second,' I said.

The uncle and Leggatt had finished washing up and were seated, smoking,while the damp duster dried at the fire.

'About what time was it,' said Pyecroft to Leggatt, 'when our Mr.Morshed began to talk about uncles?'

'When he came back to the bar, after he'd changed into those rat-catcherclothes,' said Leggatt.

'That's right. "Pye," said he, "have you an uncle?" "I have," I says."Here's santy to him," and I finished my sherry and bitters to_you_, uncle.'

'That's right,' said Pyecroft's uncle sternly. 'If you hadn't I'd havebelted you worth rememberin', Emmanuel. I had the body all night.'

'"You're a pressed man," says our Mr. Morshed. "I owe your late employermuch, so to say. The car will manoeuvre all night, as requisite."

'Mr. Leggatt come out noble as your employee, and, by 'Eaven's divinegrace, instead of arguing, he pleaded his new paint and varnish whichwas Mr. Morshed's one vital spot (he's lootenant on one of the newcatch-'em-alive-o's now). "True," says he, "paint's an 'oly thing. I'llgive you one hour to arrange a _modus vivendi_. Full bunkers and steamready by 9 P.M. to-night, _if_ you please."

'Even so, Mr. Leggatt was far from content. _I_ 'ad to arrange thedetails. We run her into the yard here.' Pyecroft nodded through thewindow at my car's glossy back-panels. 'We took off the body with itsmats and put it in the stable, substitooting (and that yard's a tightfit for extensive repairs) the body of uncle's blue delivery cart. Itoverhung a trifle, but after I'd lashed it I knew it wouldn't fetchloose. Thus, in our composite cruiser, we repaired once more to thehotel, and was immediately dispatched to the toy-shop in the High Streetwhere we took aboard one rocking-horse which was waiting for us.'

'Took aboard _what_?' I cried.

'One fourteen-hand dapple-grey rocking-horse, with pure green rockersand detachable tail, pair gashly glass eyes, complete set 'orriblegrinnin' teeth, and two bloody-red nostrils which, protruding from thebrown papers, produced the _tout ensemble_ of a Ju-ju sacrifice in theBenin campaign. Do I make myself comprehensible?'

'Perfectly. Did you say anything?' I asked.

'Only to Jules. To him, I says, wishing to try him. "_Allez a votrebateau. Je say mon Lootenong. Eel voo donneray porkwor_." To me, sayshe, "_Vous ong ate hurroo! Jamay de la vee_!" and I saw by his eye he'dtaken on for the full term of the war. Jules was a blue-eyed,brindle-haired beggar of a useful make and inquirin' habits. Your Mr.Leggatt he only groaned.'

Leggatt nodded. 'It was like nightmares,' he said. 'It was likenightmares.'

'Once more, then,' Pyecroft swept on, 'we returned to the hotel andpartook of a sumptuous repast, under the able and genial chairmanship ofour Mr. Morshed, who laid his projecks unreservedly before us. "In thefirst place," he says, opening out bicycle-maps, "my uncle, who, Iregret to say, is a brigadier-general, has sold his alleged soul toDicky Bridoon for a feathery hat and a pair o' gilt spurs. Jules,_conspuez l'oncle_!" So Jules, you'll be glad to hear--'

'One minute, Pye,' I said. 'Who is Dicky Bridoon?'

'I don't usually mingle myself up with the bickerings of the JuniorService, but it trarnspired that he was Secretary o' State for CivilWar, an' he'd been issuing mechanical leather-belly gee-gees whichdoctors recommend for tumour--to the British cavalry in loo of real meathorses, to learn to ride on. Don't you remember there was quite a stirin the papers owing to the cavalry not appreciatin' 'em? But that's aminor item. The main point was that our uncle, in his capacity ofbrigadier-general, mark you, had wrote to the papers highly approvin' o'Dicky Bridoon's mechanical substitutes an 'ad thus obtainedpromotion--all same as a agnosticle stoker psalm-singin' 'imself up theService under a pious captain. At that point of the narrative we caughta phosphorescent glimmer why the rocking-horse might have been issued;but none the less the navigation was intricate. Omitting the fact it wasdark and cloudy, our brigadier-uncle lay somewhere in the South Downswith his brigade, which was manoeuvrin' at Whitsum manoeuvres on a largescale--Red Army _versus_ Blue, et cetera; an' all we 'ad to go by wasthose flapping bicycle-maps and your Mr. Leggatt's groans.'

'I was thinking what the Downs mean after dark,' said Leggatt angrily.

'They was worth thinkin' of,' said Pyecroft. 'When we had studied themap till it fair spun, we decided to sally forth and creep for uncle byhand in the dark, dark night, an' present 'im with the rocking-horse. Sowe embarked at 8.57 P.M.'

'One minute again, please. How much did Jules understand by that time?'I asked.

'Sufficient unto the day--or night, perhaps I should say. He told ourMr. Morshed he'd follow him _more sang frays_, which is French for dead,drunk, or damned. Barrin' 'is paucity o' language, there wasn't ablemish on Jules. But what I wished to imply was, when we climbed intothe back parts of the car, our Lootenant Morshed says to me, "I doubt ifI'd flick my cigar-ends about too lavish, Mr. Pyecroft. We ought to besitting on five pounds' worth of selected fireworks, and I think therockets are your end." Not being able to smoke with my 'ead over theside I threw it away; and then your Mr. Leggatt, 'aving been as nearlymutinous as it pays to be with my Mr. Morshed, arched his backand drove.'

'Where did he drive to, please?' said I.

'Primerrily, in search of any or either or both armies; seconderrily, ofcourse, in search of our brigadier-uncle. Not finding him on the road,we ran about the grass looking for him. This took us to a great manyplaces in a short time. Ow 'eavenly that lilac did smell on top of thatfirst Down--stinkin' its blossomin' little heart out!'

'I 'adn't leesure to notice,' said Mr. Leggatt. 'The Downs were full o'chalk-pits, and we'd no lights.'

'We 'ad the bicycle-lamp to look at the map by. Didn't you notice theold lady at the window where we saw the man in the night-gown? I thoughtnight-gowns as sleepin' rig was extinck, so to speak.'

'I tell you I 'adn't leesure to notice,' Leggatt repeated.

'That's odd. Then what might 'ave made you tell the sentry at the firstcamp we found that you was the _Daily Express_ delivery-waggon?'

'You can't touch pitch without being defiled,' Leggatt answered. ''Ootold the officer in the bath we were umpires?'

'Well, he asked us. That was when we found the Territorial battalionundressin' in slow time. It lay on the left flank o' the Blue Army, andit cackled as it lay, too. But it gave us our position as regards therespective armies. We wandered a little more, and at 11.7 P.M., nothaving had a road under us for twenty minutes, we scaled the heights ofsomething or other--which are about six hundred feet high. Here we'alted to tighten the lashings of the superstructure, and we smeltleather and horses three counties deep all round. We was, as you mightsay, in the thick of it.'

'"Ah!" says my Mr. Morshed. "My 'orizon has indeed broadened. What alittle thing is an uncle, Mr. Pyecroft, in the presence o' theseglitterin' constellations! Simply ludicrous!" he says, "to waste arocking-horse on an individual. We must socialise it. But we must gettheir 'eads up first. Touch off one rocket, if you please."

'I touched off a green three-pounder which rose several thousand metres,and burst into gorgeous stars. "Reproduce the manoeuvre," he says, "atthe other end o' this ridge--if it don't end in another cliff." So westeamed down the ridge a mile and a half east, and then I let Julestouch off a pink rocket, or he'd ha' kissed me. That was his only way toexpress his emotions, so to speak. Their heads come up then all aroundus to the extent o' thousands. We hears bugles like cocks crowing below,and on the top of it a most impressive sound which I'd never enjoyedbefore because 'itherto I'd always been an inteegral part of it, so tosay--the noise of 'ole armies gettin' under arms. They must 'aveanticipated a night attack, I imagine. Most impressive. Then we 'eard athreshin'-machine. "Tutt! Tutt! This is childish!" says LootenantMorshed. "We can't wait till they've finished cutting chaff for theirhorses. We must make 'em understand we're not to be trifled with.Expedite 'em with another rocket, Mr. Pyecroft."

'"It's barely possible, sir," I remarks, "that that's a searchlightchurnin' up," and by the time we backed into a providential chalkcutting (which was where our first tyre went pungo) she broke out to thenorthward, and began searching the ridge. A smart bit o' work.'

''Twasn't a puncture. The inner tube had nipped because we skidded so,'Leggatt interrupted.

'While your Mr. Leggatt was effectin' repairs, another searchlight brokeout to the southward, and the two of 'em swept our ridge on both sides.Right at the west end of it they showed us the ground rising into ahill, so to speak, crowned with what looked like a little fort. Morshedsaw it before the beams shut off. "That's the key of the position!" hesays. "Occupy it at all hazards."

'"I haven't half got occupation for the next twenty minutes," says yourMr. Leggatt, rootin' and blasphemin' in the dark. Mark, now, 'owMorshed changed his tactics to suit 'is environment. "Right!" says he."I'll stand by the ship. Mr. Pyecroft and Jules, oblige me by doublingalong the ridge to the east with all the maroons and crackers you cancarry without spilling. Read the directions careful for the maroons, Mr.Pyecroft, and touch them off at half-minute intervals. Jules representsmusketry an' maxim fire under your command. Remember, it's death orSalisbury Gaol! Prob'ly both!"

'By these means and some moderately 'ard runnin', we distracted 'em tothe eastward. Maroons, you may not be aware, are same as bombs, with theanarchism left out. In confined spots like chalk-pits, they knock afour-point-seven silly. But you should read the directions before'and.In the intervals of the slow but well-directed fire of my cow-guns,Jules, who had found a sheep-pond in the dark a little lower down, gavewhat you might call a cinematograph reproduction o' sporadic musketry.They was large size crackers, and he concluded with the dull, sickenin'thud o' blind shells burstin' on soft ground.'

'How did he manage that?' I said.

'You throw a lighted squib into water and you'll see,' said Pyecroft.'Thus, then, we improvised till supplies was exhausted and thesurrounding landscapes fair 'owled and 'ummed at us. The Jun or Servicemight 'ave 'ad their doubts about the rockets but they couldn't overlookour gunfire. Both sides tumbled out full of initiative. I told Jules notwo flat-feet 'ad any right to be as happy as us, and we went backalong the ridge to the derelict, and there was our Mr. Morshedapostrophin' his 'andiwork over fifty square mile o' country with"Attend, all ye who list to hear!" out of the Fifth Reader. He'd got asfar as "And roused the shepherds o' Stonehenge, the rangers o' Beaulieu"when we come up, and he drew our attention to its truth as well as itsbeauty. That's rare in poetry, I'm told. He went right on to--"The redglare on Skiddaw roused those beggars at Carlisle"--which he pointed outwas poetic license for Leith Hill. This allowed your Mr. Leggatt time tofinish pumpin' up his tyres. I 'eard the sweat 'op off his nose.'

'You know what it is, sir,' said poor Leggatt to me.

'It warfted across my mind, as I listened to what was trarnspirin', thatit might be easier to make the mess than to wipe it up, but suchconsiderations weighed not with our valiant leader.

'"Mr. Pyecroft," he says, "it can't have escaped your notice that we'ave one angry and 'ighly intelligent army in front of us, an' another'ighly angry and equally intelligent army in our rear. What 'ud yourecommend?"

'Most men would have besought 'im to do a lateral glide while there wasyet time, but all I said was: "The rocking-horse isn't expendedyet, sir."

'I may 'ave omitted to point out that at this juncture two largearmies, both deprived of their night's sleep, was awake, as you mightsay, and hurryin' into each other's arms. Here endeth thesecond chapter.'

He filled his pipe slowly. The uncle had fallen asleep. Leggatt litanother cigarette.

'We then proceeded _ong automobile_ along the ridge in a westerlydirection towards the miniature fort which had been so kindly revealedby the searchlight, but which on inspection (your Mr. Leggatt bumpedinto an outlyin' reef of it) proved to be a wurzel-clump;_c'est-a-dire_, a parallelogrammatic pile of about three millionmangold-wurzels, brought up there for the sheep, I suppose. On allsides, excep' the one we'd come by, the ground fell away moderatelyquick, and down at the bottom there was a large camp lit up an' full ofharsh words of command.

'"I said it was the key to the position," Lootenant Morshed remarks."Trot out Persimmon!" which we rightly took to read, "Un-wrap therocking-horse."

'"Silence!" says the Lootenant. "This is the Royal Navy, not Newmarket";and we carried Persimmon to the top of the mangel-wurzel clumpas directed.

'Owing to the inequalities of the terrain (I _do_ think your Mr. Leggattmight have had a spirit-level in his kit) he wouldn't rock free on thebed-plate, and while adjustin' him, his detachable tail fetched adrift.Our Lootenant was quick to seize the advantage.

'"Remove that transformation," he says. "Substitute one Roman candle.Gas-power is superior to manual propulsion."

'So we substituted. He arranged the _piece de resistarnce_ in the shapeof large drums--not saucers, mark you--drums of coloured fire, withprinted instructions, at proper distances round Persimmon. There was abrief interregnum while we dug ourselves in among the wurzels by hand.Then he touched off the fires, _not_ omitting the Roman candle, and, youmay take it from me, all was visible. Persimmon shone out in his nakedsplendour, red to port, green to starboard, and one white light at hisbows, as per Board o' Trade regulations. Only he didn't so much rock,you might say, as shrug himself, in a manner of speaking, every time thecandle went off. One can't have everything. But the rest surpassed ourhighest expectations. I think Persimmon was noblest on the starboard orgreen side--more like when a man thinks he's seeing mackerel in hell,don't you know? And yet I'd be the last to deprecate the effect of theport light on his teeth, or that blood-shot look in his left eye. Heknew there was something going on he didn't approve of. Helooked worried.'

'Did you laugh?' I said.

'I'm not much of a wag myself; nor it wasn't as if we 'ad time to allowthe spectacle to sink in. The coloured fires was supposed to burn tenminutes, whereas it was obvious to the meanest capacity that the JuniorService would arrive by forced marches in about two and a half. Theygrarsped our topical allusion as soon as it was across the foot-lights,so to speak. They were quite chafed at it. Of course, 'ad we reflected,we might have known that exposin' illuminated rockin'-horses to an armythat was learnin' to ride on 'em partook of the nature of a _doubleentender_, as the French say--same as waggling the tiller lines at a manwho's had a hanging in the family. I knew the cox of the_Archimandrite's_ galley 'arf killed for a similar _plaisan-teree._ Butwe never anticipated lobsters being so sensitive. That was why weshifted. We could 'ardly tear our commandin' officer away. He put hishead on one side, and kept cooin'. The only thing he 'ad neglected toprovide was a line of retreat; but your Mr. Leggatt--an 'eroic soul inthe last stage of wet prostration--here took command of the van, or,rather, the rear-guard. We walked downhill beside him, holding on to thesuperstructure to prevent her capsizing. These technical details,'owever, are beyond me.' He waved his pipe towards Leggatt.

'I saw there was two deepish ruts leadin' down 'ill somewhere,' saidLeggatt. 'That was when the soldiers stopped laughin', and begun torun uphill.'

'So I laid her in these ruts. That was where she must 'ave scraped hersilencer a bit. Then they turned sharp right--the ruts did--and then shestopped bonnet-high in a manure-heap, sir; but I'll swear it was all ofa one in three gradient. I think it was a barnyard. We waited there,'said Leggatt.

'But not for long,' said Pyecroft. 'The lights were towering out of thedrums on the position we 'ad so valiantly abandoned; and the JuniorService was escaladin' it _en masse_. When numerous bodies of 'ighlytrained men arrive simultaneous in the same latitude from oppositedirections, each remarking briskly, "What the 'ell did you do _that_for?" detonation, as you might say, is practically assured. They didn'task for extraneous aids. If we'd come out with sworn affidavits of whatwe'd done they wouldn't 'ave believed us. They wanted each other'scompany exclusive. Such was the effect of Persimmon on their clarssfeelings. Idol'try, _I_ call it! Events transpired with the utmostvelocity and rapidly increasing pressures. There was a few remarks aboutDicky Bridoon and mechanical horses, and then some one was smacked--hardby the sound--in the middle of a remark.'

'That was the man who kept calling for the Forty-fifth Dragoons,' saidLeggatt. 'He got as far as Drag ...'

'Was it?' said Pyecroft dreamily. 'Well, he couldn't say they didn'tcome. They all came, and they all fell to arguin' whether the Infantryshould 'ave Persimmon for a regimental pet or the Cavalry should keephim for stud purposes. Hence the issue was soon clouded withmangold-wurzels. Our commander said we 'ad sowed the good seed, and itwas bearing abundant fruit. (They weigh between four and seven poundsapiece.) Seein' the children 'ad got over their shyness, and 'ad reallybegun to play games, we backed out o' the pit and went down, by steps,to the camp below, no man, as you might say, making us afraid. Here weenjoyed a front view of the battle, which rolled with renewed impetus,owing to both sides receiving strong reinforcements every minute. Allarms were freely represented; Cavalry, on this occasion only, acting inconcert with Artillery. They argued the relative merits of horses_versus_ feet, so to say, but they didn't neglect Persimmon. The woundedrolling downhill with the wurzels informed us that he had long ago beensocialised, and the smallest souvenirs were worth a man's life. Speakingbroadly, the Junior Service appeared to be a shade out of 'and, if I mayventure so far. They did _not_ pay prompt and unhesitating obedience tothe "Retires" or the "Cease Fires" or the "For 'Eaven's sake come tobed, ducky" of their officers, who, I regret to say, were 'otlyembroiled at the heads of their respective units.'

'How did you find that out?' I asked.

'On account of Lootenant Morshed going to the Mess tent to call on hisuncle and raise a drink; but all hands had gone to the front. We thoughtwe 'eard somebody bathing behind the tent, and we found an oldishgentleman tryin' to drown a boy in knickerbockers in a horse-trough. Hekept him under with a bicycle, so to speak. He 'ad nearly accomplishedhis fell design, when we frustrated him. He was in a highly malleablecondition and full o' _juice de spree_. "Arsk not what I am," he says."My wife 'll tell me that quite soon enough. Arsk rather what I'vebeen," he says. "I've been dinin' here," he says. "I commanded 'em inthe Eighties," he says, "and, Gawd forgive me," he says, sobbin''eavily, "I've spent this holy evening telling their Colonel they was aset of educated inefficients. Hark to 'em!" We could, without strainin'ourselves; but how _he_ picked up the gentle murmur of his own corps inthat on-the-knee party up the hill I don't know. "They've marched andfought thirty mile to-day," he shouts, "and now they're tearin' the_intestines_ out of the Cavalry up yonder! They won't stop this side thegates o' Delhi," he says. "I commanded their ancestors. There's nothingwrong with the Service," he says, wringing out his trousers on his lap."'Eaven pardon me for doubtin' 'em! Same old game--same young beggars."

'The boy in the knickerbockers, languishing on a chair, puts in a claimfor one drink. "Let him go dry," says our friend in shirt-tails. "He's areporter. He run into me on his filthy bicycle and he asked me if Icould furnish 'im with particulars about the mutiny in the Army. Youfalse-'earted proletarian publicist," he says, shakin' his finger at'im--for he was reelly annoyed--"I'll teach you to defile what you can'tcomprebend! When my regiment's in a state o' mutiny, I'll do myself thehonour of informing you personally. You particularly ignorant and verynarsty little man," he says, "you're no better than a dhobi's donkey! Ifthere wasn't dirty linen to wash, you'd starve," he says, "and why Ihaven't drowned you will be the lastin' regret of my life."

'Well, we sat with 'em and 'ad drinks for about half-an-hour in frontof the Mess tent. He'd ha' killed the reporter if there hadn't beenwitnesses, and the reporter might have taken notes of the battle; so weacted as two-way buffers, in a sense. I don't hold with the Pressmingling up with Service matters. They draw false conclusions. Now, markyou, at a moderate estimate, there were seven thousand men in thefighting line, half of 'em hurt in their professional feelings, an' theother half rubbin' in the liniment, as you might say. All due toPersimmon! If you 'adn't seen it you wouldn't 'ave believed it. And yet,mark you, not one single unit of 'em even resorted to his belt. Theyconfined themselves to natural producks--hands and the wurzels. Ithought Jules was havin' fits, till it trarnspired the same thought hadimpressed him in the French language. He called it _incroyable_, Ibelieve. Seven thousand men, with seven thousand rifles, belts, andbayonets, in a violently agitated condition, and not a ungenteel blowstruck from first to last. The old gentleman drew our attention to it aswell. It was quite noticeable.

'Lack of ammunition was the primerry cause of the battle ceasin'. ABrigade-Major came in, wipin' his nose on both cuffs, and sayin' he 'ad'ad snuff. The brigadier-uncle followed. He was, so to speak, sneezin'.We thought it best to shift our moorings without attractin' attention;so we shifted. They 'ad called the cows 'ome by then. The Junior Servicewas going to bye-bye all round us, as happy as the ship's monkey whenhe's been playin' with the paints, and Lootenant Morshed and Jules keptbowin' to port and starboard of the superstructure, acknowledgin' theunstinted applause which the multitude would 'ave given 'em if they'dknown the facts. On the other 'and, as your Mr. Leggatt observed, theymight 'ave killed us.

'That would have been about five bells in the middle watch, sayhalf-past two. A well-spent evening. There was but little to be gainedby entering Portsmouth at that hour, so we turned off on the grass (thiswas after we had found a road under us), and we cast anchors out at thestern and prayed for the day.

'But your Mr. Leggatt he had to make and mend tyres all our watch below.It trarnspired she had been running on the rim o' two or three wheels,which, very properly, he hadn't reported till the close of the action.And that's the reason of your four new tyres. Mr. Morshed was of opinionyou'd earned 'em. Do you dissent?'

I stretched out my hand, which Pyecroft crushed to pulp. 'No, Pye,' Isaid, deeply moved, 'I agree entirely. But what happened to Jules?'

'We returned him to his own Navy after breakfast. He wouldn't have keptmuch longer without some one in his own language to tell it to. I don'tknow any man I ever took more compassion on than Jules. 'Is sufferingsswelled him up centimetres, and all he could do on the Hard was to kissLootenant Morshed and me, _and_ your Mr. Leggatt. He deserved that much.A cordial beggar.'

Pyecroft looked at the washed cups on the table, and the low sunshineon my car's back in the yard.

'Too early to drink to him,' he said. 'But I feel it just the same.'

The uncle, sunk in his chair, snored a little; the canary answered witha shrill lullaby. Pyecroft picked up the duster, threw it over the cage,put his finger to his lips, and we tiptoed out into the shop, whileLeggatt brought the car round.

'I'll look out for the news in the papers,' I said, as I got in.

'Oh, we short-circuited that! Nothing trarnspired excep' a statement tothe effect that some Territorial battalions had played about withturnips at the conclusion of the manoeuvres The taxpayer don't know allhe gets for his money. Farewell!'

We moved off just in time to be blocked by a regiment coming towards thestation to entrain for London.

'Beg your pardon, sir,' said a sergeant in charge of the baggage, 'butwould you mind backin' a bit till we get the waggons past?'

'Certainly,' I said. 'You don't happen to have a rocking-horse amongyour kit, do you?'

The rattle of our reverse drowned his answer, but I saw his eyes. One ofthem was blackish-green, about four days old.

THE LEGEND OF MIRTH

The Four Archangels, so the legends tell, Raphael, Gabriel, Michael, Azrael, Being first of those to whom the Power was shown, Stood first of all the Host before The Throne, And when the Charges were allotted burst Tumultuous-winged from out the assembly first. Zeal was their spur that bade them strictly heed Their own high judgment on their lightest deed. Zeal was their spur that, when relief was given, Urged them unwearied to fresh toil in Heaven; For Honour's sake perfecting every task Beyond what e'en Perfection's self could ask.... And Allah, Who created Zeal and Pride, Knows how the twain are perilous-near allied.

It chanced on one of Heaven's long-lighted days, The Four and all the Host having gone their ways Each to his Charge, the shining Courts were void Save for one Seraph whom no charge employed, With folden wings and slumber-threatened brow. To whom The Word: 'Beloved, what dost thou?' 'By the Permission,' came the answer soft, 'Little I do nor do that little oft. As is The Will in Heaven so on Earth Where by The Will I strive to make men mirth.' He ceased and sped, hearing The Word once more: 'Beloved, go thy way and greet the Four.'

Systems and Universes overpast, The Seraph came upon the Four, at last, Guiding and guarding with devoted mind The tedious generations of mankind Who lent at most unwilling ear and eye When they could not escape the ministry.... Yet, patient, faithful, firm, persistent, just Toward all that gross, indifferent, facile dust, The Archangels laboured to discharge their trust By precept and example, prayer and law, Advice, reproof, and rule, but, labouring, saw Each in his fellow's countenance confessed, The Doubt that sickens: 'Have I done my best?'

Even as they sighed and turned to toil anew, The Seraph hailed them with observance due; And after some fit talk of higher things Touched tentative on mundane happenings. This they permitting, he, emboldened thus, Prolused of humankind promiscuous. And, since the large contention less avails Than instances observed, he told them tales--Tales of the shop, the bed, the court, the street, Intimate, elemental, indiscreet: Occasions where Confusion smiting swift Piles jest on jest as snow-slides pile the drift.

Whence, one by one, beneath derisive skies, The victims bare, bewildered heads arise: Tales of the passing of the spirit, graced With humour blinding as the doom it faced: Stark tales of ribaldry that broke aside To tears, by laughter swallowed ere they dried: Tales to which neither grace nor gain accrue, But only (Allah be exalted!) true, And only, as the Seraph showed that night, Delighting to the limits of delight.

These he rehearsed with artful pause and halt, And such pretence of memory at fault, That soon the Four--so well the bait was thrown-- Came to his aid with memories of their own-- Matters dismissed long since as small or vain, Whereof the high significance had lain Hid, till the ungirt glosses made it plain. Then as enlightenment came broad and fast, Each marvelled at his own oblivious past Until--the Gates of Laughter opened wide-- The Four, with that bland Seraph at their side, While they recalled, compared, and amplified, In utter mirth forgot both zeal and pride.

High over Heaven the lamps of midnight burned Ere, weak with merriment, the Four returned, Not in that order they were wont to keep-- Pinion to pinion answering, sweep for sweep, In awful diapason heard afar, But shoutingly adrift 'twixt star and star. Reeling a planet's orbit left or right As laughter took them in the abysmal Night; Or, by the point of some remembered jest, Winged and brought helpless down through gulfs unguessed, Where the blank worlds that gather to the birth Leaped in the womb of Darkness at their mirth, And e'en Gehenna's bondsmen understood. They were not damned from human brotherhood.

Not first nor last of Heaven's high Host, the Four That night took place beneath The Throne once more. O lovelier than their morning majesty, The understanding light behind the eye! O more compelling than their old command, The new-learned friendly gesture of the hand! O sweeter than their zealous fellowship, The wise half-smile that passed from lip to lip! O well and roundly, when Command was given, They told their tale against themselves to Heaven, And in the silence, waiting on The Word, Received the Peace and Pardon of The Lord!

'My Son's Wife'

(1913)

He had suffered from the disease of the century since his early youth,and before he was thirty he was heavily marked with it. He and a fewfriends had rearranged Heaven very comfortably, but the reorganisationof Earth, which they called Society, was even greater fun. It demandedWork in the shape of many taxi-rides daily; hours of brilliant talk withbrilliant talkers; some sparkling correspondence; a few silences (but onthe understanding that their own turn should come soon) while otherpeople expounded philosophies; and a fair number of picture-galleries,tea-fights, concerts, theatres, music-halls, and cinema shows; the wholetrimmed with love-making to women whose hair smelt of cigarette-smoke.Such strong days sent Frankwell Midmore back to his flat assured that heand his friends had helped the World a step nearer the Truth, the Dawn,and the New Order.

His temperament, he said, led him more towards concrete data thanabstract ideas. People who investigate detail are apt to be tired at theday's end. The same temperament, or it may have been a woman, made himearly attach himself to the Immoderate Left of his Cause in the capacityof an experimenter in Social Relations. And since the Immoderate Leftcontains plenty of women anxious to help earnest inquirers with largeindependent incomes to arrive at evaluations of essentials, FrankwellMidmore's lot was far from contemptible.

At that hour Fate chose to play with him. A widowed aunt, widelyseparated by nature, and more widely by marriage, from all thatMidmore's mother had ever been or desired to be, died and left himpossessions. Mrs. Midmore, having that summer embraced a creed whichdenied the existence of death, naturally could not stoop to burial; butMidmore had to leave London for the dank country at a season when SocialRegeneration works best through long, cushioned conferences, two by two,after tea. There he faced the bracing ritual of the British funeral, andwas wept at across the raw grave by an elderly coffin-shaped female witha long nose, who called him 'Master Frankie'; and there he wascongratulated behind an echoing top-hat by a man he mistook for a mute,who turned out to be his aunt's lawyer. He wrote his mother next day,after a bright account of the funeral:

'So far as I can understand, she has left me between four and fivehundred a year. It all comes from Ther Land, as they call it down here.The unspeakable attorney, Sperrit, and a green-eyed daughter, who humsto herself as she tramps but is silent on all subjects except "huntin',"insisted on taking me to see it. Ther Land is brown and green inalternate slabs like chocolate and pistachio cakes, speckled withoccasional peasants who do not utter. In case it should not be wetenough there is a wet brook in the middle of it. Ther House is by thebrook. I shall look into it later. If there should be any little mementoof Jenny that you care for, let me know. Didn't you tell me thatmid-Victorian furniture is coming into the market again? Jenny's oldmaid--it is called Rhoda Dolbie--tells me that Jenny promised it thirtypounds a year. The will does not. Hence, I suppose, the tears at thefuneral. But that is close on ten per cent of the income. I fancy Jennyhas destroyed all her private papers and records of her _vie intime_,if, indeed, life be possible in such a place. The Sperrit man told methat if I had means of my own I might come and live on Ther Land. Ididn't tell him how much I would pay not to! I cannot think it rightthat any human being should exercise mastery over others in themerciless fashion our tom-fool social system permits; so, as it is allmine, I intend to sell it whenever the unholy Sperrit can find apurchaser.'

And he went to Mr. Sperrit with the idea next day, just before returningto town.

'Quite so,' said the lawyer. 'I see your point, of course. But the houseitself is rather old-fashioned--hardly the type purchasers demandnowadays. There's no park, of course, and the bulk of the land is let toa life-tenant, a Mr. Sidney. As long as he pays his rent, he can't beturned out, and even if he didn't'--Mr. Sperrit's face relaxed ashade--'you might have a difficulty.'

'The property brings four hundred a year, I understand,' said Midmore.

'Well, hardly--ha-ardly. Deducting land and income tax, tithes, fireinsurance, cost of collection and repairs of course, it returned twohundred and eighty-four pounds last year. The repairs are rather a largeitem--owing to the brook. I call it Liris--out of Horace, you know.'

Midmore looked at his watch impatiently.

'I suppose you can find somebody to buy it?' he repeated.

'We will do our best, of course, if those are your instructions. Then,that is all except'--here Midmore half rose, but Mr. Sperrit's littlegrey eyes held his large brown ones firmly--'except about Rhoda Dolbie,Mrs. Werf's maid. I may tell you that we did not draw up your aunt'slast will. She grew secretive towards the last--elderly people oftendo--and had it done in London. I expect her memory failed her, or shemislaid her notes. She used to put them in her spectacle-case.... Mymotor only takes eight minutes to get to the station, Mr. Midmore ...but, as I was saying, whenever she made her will with _us_, Mrs. Werfalways left Rhoda thirty pounds per annum. Charlie, the wills!' A clerkwith a baldish head and a long nose dealt documents on to the table likecards, and breathed heavily behind Midmore. 'It's in no sense a legalobligation, of course,' said Mr. Sperrit. 'Ah, that one is dated Januarythe 11th, eighteen eighty-nine.'

Midmore looked at his watch again and found himself saying with no goodgrace: 'Well, I suppose she'd better have it--for the present atany rate.'

He escaped with an uneasy feeling that two hundred and fifty-four poundsa year was not exactly four hundred, and that Charlie's long noseannoyed him. Then he returned, first-class, to his own affairs.

Of the two, perhaps three, experiments in Social Relations which he hadthen in hand, one interested him acutely. It had run for some months andpromised most variegated and interesting developments, on which he dweltluxuriously all the way to town. When he reached his flat he was notwell prepared for a twelve-page letter explaining, in the diction of theImmoderate Left which rubricates its I's and illuminates its T's, thatthe lady had realised greater attractions in another Soul. Shere-stated, rather than pleaded, the gospel of the Immoderate Left as herjustification, and ended in an impassioned demand for her right toexpress herself in and on her own life, through which, she pointed out,she could pass but once. She added that if, later, she should discoverMidmore was 'essentially complementary to her needs,' she would tell himso. That Midmore had himself written much the same sort ofepistle--barring the hint of return--to a woman of whom his needs forself-expression had caused him to weary three years before, did notassist him in the least. He expressed himself to the gas-fire in termsessential but not complimentary. Then he reflected on the detachedcriticism of his best friends and her best friends, male and female,with whom he and she and others had talked so openly while their gayadventure was in flower. He recalled, too--this must have been aboutmidnight--her analysis from every angle, remote and most intimate, ofthe mate to whom she had been adjudged under the base convention whichis styled marriage. Later, at that bad hour when the cattle wake for alittle, he remembered her in other aspects and went down into the hellappointed; desolate, desiring, with no God to call upon. About eleveno'clock next morning Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, andZophar the Naamathite called upon him 'for they had made appointmenttogether' to see how he took it; but the janitor told them that Job hadgone--into the country, he believed.

Midmore's relief when he found his story was not written across hisaching temples for Mr. Sperrit to read--the defeated lover, like thesuccessful one, believes all earth privy to his soul--was put down byMr. Sperrit to quite different causes. He led him into a morning-room.The rest of the house seemed to be full of people, singing to a loudpiano idiotic songs about cows, and the hall smelt of damp cloaks.

'It's our evening to take the winter cantata,' Mr. Sperrit explained.'It's "High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire." I hoped you'd come back.There are scores of little things to settle. As for the house, ofcourse, it stands ready for you at any time. I couldn't get Rhoda out ofit--nor could Charlie for that matter. She's the sister, isn't she, ofthe nurse who brought you down here when you were four, she says, torecover from measles?'

'Is she? Was I?' said Midmore through the bad tastes in his mouth.'D'you suppose I could stay there the night?'

Thirty joyous young voices shouted appeal to some one to leave their'pipes of parsley 'ollow--'ollow--'ollow!' Mr. Sperrit had to raise hisvoice above the din.

'Well, if I asked you to stay _here_, I should never hear the last of itfrom Rhoda. She's a little cracked, of course, but the soul of devotionand capable of anything. _Ne sit ancillae_, you know.'

'Thank you. Then I'll go. I'll walk.' He stumbled out dazed and sickinto the winter twilight, and sought the square house by the brook.

It was not a dignified entry, because when the door was unchained andRhoda exclaimed, he took two valiant steps into the hall and thenfainted--as men sometimes will after twenty-two hours of strong emotionand little food.

'I'm sorry,' he said when he could speak. He was lying at the foot ofthe stairs, his head on Rhoda's lap.

'Your 'ome is your castle, sir,' was the reply in his hair. 'I smelt itwasn't drink. You lay on the sofa till I get your supper.'

She settled him in a drawing-room hung with yellow silk, heavy with thesmell of dead leaves and oil lamp. Something murmured soothingly in thebackground and overcame the noises in his head. He thought he heardhorses' feet on wet gravel and a voice singing about ships and flocksand grass. It passed close to the shuttered bay-window.

But each will mourn his own, she saith, And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my son's wife, Elizabeth ... Cusha--cusha--cusha--calling.

The hoofs broke into a canter as Rhoda entered with the tray. 'And thenI'll put you to bed,' she said. 'Sidney's coming in the morning.'Midmore asked no questions. He dragged his poor bruised soul to bed andwould have pitied it all over again, but the food and warm sherry andwater drugged him to instant sleep.

Rhoda's voice wakened him, asking whether he would have ''ip, foot, orsitz,' which he understood were the baths of the establishment. 'Supposeyou try all three,' she suggested. 'They're all yours, you know, sir.'

He would have renewed his sorrows with the daylight, but her wordsstruck him pleasantly. Everything his eyes opened upon was his very ownto keep for ever. The carved four-post Chippendale bed, obviously worthhundreds; the wavy walnut William and Mary chairs--he had seen worseones labelled twenty guineas apiece; the oval medallion mirror; thedelicate eighteenth-century wire fireguard; the heavy brocaded curtainswere his--all his. So, too, a great garden full of birds that faced himwhen he shaved; a mulberry tree, a sun-dial, and a dull, steel-colouredbrook that murmured level with the edge of a lawn a hundred yards away.Peculiarly and privately his own was the smell of sausages and coffeethat he sniffed at the head of the wide square landing, all set roundwith mysterious doors and Bartolozzi prints. He spent two hours afterbreakfast in exploring his new possessions. His heart leaped up at suchthings as sewing-machines, a rubber-tyred bath-chair in a tiled passage,a malachite-headed Malacca cane, boxes and boxes of unopened stationery,seal-rings, bunches of keys, and at the bottom of a steel-net reticule alittle leather purse with seven pounds ten shillings in gold and elevenshillings in silver.

'You used to play with that when my sister brought you down here afteryour measles,' said Rhoda as he slipped the money into his pocket. 'Now,this was your pore dear auntie's business-room.' She opened a low door.'Oh, I forgot about Mr. Sidney! There he is.' An enormous old man withrheumy red eyes that blinked under downy white eyebrows sat in an Empirechair, his cap in his hands. Rhoda withdrew sniffing. The man lookedMidmore over in silence, then jerked a thumb towards the door. 'I reckonshe told you who I be,' he began. 'I'm the only farmer you've got.Nothin' goes off my place 'thout it walks on its own feet. What about mypig-pound?'

'Well, what about it?' said Midmore.

'That's just what I be come about. The County Councils are getting moreparticular. Did ye know there was swine fever at Pashell's? There _be_.It'll 'ave to be in brick.'

'Yes,' said Midmore politely.

'I've bin at your aunt that was, plenty times about it. I don't say shewasn't a just woman, but she didn't read the lease same way I did. I beused to bein' put upon, but there's no doing any longer 'thout thatpig-pound.'

'When would you like it?' Midmore asked. It seemed the easiest road totake.

'Any time or other suits me, I reckon. He ain't thrivin' where he is,an' I paid eighteen shillin' for him.' He crossed his hands on his stickand gave no further sign of life.

Midmore rang the bell. Rhoda came in with a bottle and a glass. The oldman helped himself to four stiff fingers, rose in one piece, and stumpedout. At the door he cried ferociously: 'Don't suppose it's any odds toyou whether I'm drowned or not, but them floodgates want a wheel andwinch, they do. I be too old for liftin' 'em with the bar--my timeo' life.'

There was nothing in Midmore's past to teach him the message andsignificance of a hand-written lease of the late 'eighties, but Rhodainterpreted.

'It don't mean anything reelly,' was her cheerful conclusion, 'excep'you mustn't get rid of him anyhow, an' 'e can do what 'e likes always.Lucky for us 'e _do_ farm; and if it wasn't for 'is woman--'

'Oh, there's a Mrs. Sidney, is there?'

'Lor, _no_!' The Sidneys don't marry. They keep. That's his fourthsince--to my knowledge. He was a takin' man from the first.'

'Any families?'

'They'd be grown up by now if there was, wouldn't they? But you can'tspend all your days considerin' 'is interests. That's what gave yourpore aunt 'er indigestion. 'Ave you seen the gun-room?'

Midmore held strong views on the immorality of taking life for pleasure.But there was no denying that the late Colonel Werf's seventy-guineabreechloaders were good at their filthy job. He loaded one, took it outand pointed--merely pointed--it at a cock-pheasant which rose out of ashrubbery behind the kitchen, and the flaming bird came down in a longslant on the lawn, stone dead. Rhoda from the scullery said it was alovely shot, and told him lunch was ready.

He spent the afternoon gun in one hand, a map in the other, beating thebounds of his lands. They lay altogether in a shallow, uninterestingvalley, flanked with woods and bisected by a brook. Up stream was hisown house; down stream, less than half a mile, a low red farm-housesquatted in an old orchard, beside what looked like small lock-gates onthe Thames. There was no doubt as to ownership. Mr. Sidney saw him whileyet far off, and bellowed at him about pig-pounds and floodgates. Theselast were two great sliding shutters of weedy oak across the brook,which were prised up inch by inch with a crowbar along a notched stripof iron, and when Sidney opened them they at once let out half thewater. Midmore watched it shrink between its aldered banks like someconjuring trick. This, too, was his very own.

'I see,' he said. 'How interesting! Now, what's that bell for?' he wenton, pointing to an old ship's bell in a rude belfry at the end of anouthouse. 'Was that a chapel once?' The red-eyed giant seemed to havedifficulty in expressing himself for the moment and blinked savagely.

'Yes,' he said at last. 'My chapel. When you 'ear that bell ring you'll'ear something. Nobody but me 'ud put up with it--but I reckon it don'tmake any odds to you.' He slammed the gates down again, and the brookrose behind them with a suck and a grunt.

Midmore moved off, conscious that he might be safer with Rhoda to holdhis conversational hand. As he passed the front of the farm-house asmooth fat woman, with neatly parted grey hair under a widow's cap,curtsied to him deferentially through the window. By every teaching ofthe Immoderate Left she had a perfect right to express herself in anyway she pleased, but the curtsey revolted him. And on his way home hewas hailed from behind a hedge by a manifest idiot with no roof to hismouth, who hallooed and danced round him.

'What did that beast want?' he demanded of Rhoda at tea.

'Jimmy? He only wanted to know if you 'ad any telegrams to send. 'E'llgo anywhere so long as 'tisn't across running water. That gives 'im 'isseizures. Even talkin' about it for fun like makes 'im shake.'

'But why isn't he where he can be properly looked after?'

'What 'arm's 'e doing? E's a love-child, but 'is family can pay for 'im.If 'e was locked up 'e'd die all off at once, like a wild rabbit. Won'tyou, please, look at the drive, sir?'

Midmore looked in the fading light. The neat gravel was pitted withlarge roundish holes, and there was a punch or two of the same sorton the lawn.

'That's the 'unt comin' 'ome,' Rhoda explained. 'Your pore dear auntiealways let 'em use our drive for a short cut after the Colonel died. TheColonel wouldn't so much because he preserved; but your auntie wasalways an 'orsewoman till 'er sciatica.'

'Isn't there some one who can rake it over or--or something?' saidMidmore vaguely.

'Oh yes. You'll never see it in the morning, but--you was out when theycame 'ome an' Mister Fisher--he's the Master--told me to tell you with'is compliments that if you wasn't preservin' and cared to 'old to theold understanding', is gravel-pit is at your service same as before. 'Ethought, perhaps, you mightn't know, and it 'ad slipped my mind to tellyou. It's good gravel, Mister Fisher's, and it binds beautiful on the